Particles of Obsession (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Book 2)

by Charlotte Raine

  “Be a man.”

  “Man up.”

  “Act like a man.”

  I was told this multiple times—in a derogatory way when I was in foster care, but also when I had to act as a witness at my father’s trial and my father’s defense lawyer didn’t want me to cry too much because it annoyed my father. I grew up with these ideas of masculinity: aggressive, strength, never emotional, never soft.

  But as she touches me, I can feel my skin and everything underneath it softening, turning into something malleable for her to change me into something better. I don’t feel less masculine—I feel like every nerve in my body has become tender, but harder than steel.

  If there is such a thing as masculinity, can’t it only be strengthened when it comes into contact with femininity?

  When I reach for her, I feel more than a woman in my hands. I feel a person I could entwine myself in and be engulfed by without any complaints. She has all of the soft flesh and beauty of a woman, but I can feel a raw power in her that could have belonged to either sex.

  So, I dive in and let her tide overcome me.

  I stuff the papers back into his desk and close the drawer. I want to deny that this last piece of paper is about me, but I remember him touching me, I remember that look in his eyes as if he had figured out everything he wanted to figure out. He had seen me as his other half, but I hadn’t wanted to divide myself to complete him.

  But there’s something here, between us, and I don’t think I can ignore it anymore. I don’t think I can shove it aside until a convenient moment. It’s here, and it’s big.

  His door opens. I stand up, walking over toward his couch and trying to make it look like I had just stood up after sitting all day. I stretch as he walks into the room.

  “You doing okay?” he asks.

  I nod, but my mind is still on the papers in his desk. That confession of…love? Something stronger?

  He continues, “I would have thought someone like you would have been bored out of their mind by now.”

  “Well, you know…once you lose your mind, things become a lot more interesting,” I say. “What’s going on?”

  “I talked to the frat boys,” he says. “I didn’t find out anything interesting. It was Daniel who found him, the window was closed when Daniel found him, but it was open when the police came around. The door was closed between those two times, so someone must have gone through the window to get into the room—”

  “That was me,” I interrupt.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Okay. Well, Alex seemed to flirt a lot, but he wasn’t involved with anybody as far as the fraternity knew. They told me he wasn’t the kind to settle down. He also didn’t really hang out with anybody who wasn’t part of the fraternity, and they swear that none of them were involved with his death.”

  “If one of them killed him, it wouldn’t make sense to leave his body there in the house,” I say. “I don’t think it was any of them.”

  “I also swung by Alex’s apartment after finding out the address from a friend who works at a news station…his neighbors weren’t helpful. I doubt most of them could have picked Alex out of a line-up, much less anyone who visited him, and there aren’t any surveillance cameras inside or around the building. I’m sorry, Mira. I was hoping to find something to help you out, but there isn’t anything to find.”

  I frown, but my mind isn’t on the case. “I have to ask you something and I want you to be honest.”

  “You aren’t going to accuse me of murder again, are you?” he asks. “Because I’m not the one under suspicion this time.”

  “No,” I say. “My question is about us.”

  He presses his lips together for a few seconds. I can’t read his expression. “Okay.”

  “How do you feel about me?” I ask. “Am I like one of your students or—”

  “I told you I haven’t slept with any of my students,” he says. “I wasn’t lying. And considering I have slept with you, it would be hard for me to feel the same way about you as I do about my students.”

  “Let me simplify the question then: are you in love with me?” I don’t know what answer I want to hear, but as he remains standing in front of me, not saying anything, I can feel my anxiety growing. I’m not sure I can handle either answer. For God’s sake, my last boyfriend was just murdered because of me. “Never mind. Forget I asked. Let’s focus on the case.”

  “No,” he says. “I think we do need to clear the air here. We can’t work on something as dangerous as this if we don’t trust each other.”

  I barely nod.

  “So…I don’t know how I feel about you,” he says. “I mean, I’ve just been informed that you’re the number one suspect in a murder. We only met because these murders were being committed. It’s a very emotional time and your last boyfriend, who I can tell that you were in love with, was just killed. I don’t know if either of us could understand how we feel right now. I mean, I shouldn’t speak for you because for all I know, you hate my guts and you’re only here because everyone else thinks you’re a murderer, but…I do care about you. If I cared about you any less, I would hope I would have gone to the police by now, but I haven’t because I don’t want you to go to prison. I’m not even sure I would have turned you in if you had told me that you did kill Alex.”

  “I didn’t,” I say.

  He nods. “I believe you.”

  I’m not sure if he’s being truthful, but they’re the words I need to hear right now. I walk over to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. I hug him and he hugs me back. It’s nice to be held—to feel like someone is helping to keep me in one piece.

  I unwrap myself from him and kiss him. He’s right—emotions are high and I can’t tell if this is just my way of dealing with the grief of Andre’s death. But right now, I need this more than anything. I need him more than anything.

  Chapter Two

  The Killer

  I hope you’re still paying attention because I know how my actions may seem to other people, but there’s more to this story and it can all be explained.

  In the Mind of an Addict: How to Cope as an Addict or as a Loved One of an Addict

  Looking into the Abyss: A Form Addict’s Discovery of the Truth and His Mind’s Deceit

  The Encyclopedia of Drug Addiction

  Without much thought, I took each book off of the shelf. My mind was too occupied to determine which one was worth buying, but they all seemed to be a “bestseller” or “#1” in some capacity, so I figured I should get them all.

  “Don’t get In the Mind of an Addict,” a deep voice said. “It’s full of psychobabble, hippy bullshit.”

  I turned around and saw a man around my age with messy blond hair and a big sweater with the word Tuskmirth splayed across it. He reminded me of James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause except he was skinnier and had a rounder face.

  “Um, do I know you?” I asked.

  “No, no, sorry…I, uh, I’ve just seen you around campus and, I, uh…well, the first time I really noticed you, you were practicing with your gymnastics team and you seemed like you were really good. I don’t watch much gymnastics, but the way everyone was reacting, it seemed like you were really good and it looked really good.”

  I scowled. “You’re just another guy who wants to sleep with a gymnast, so you can brag about all of the flexible things we did in bed.”

  He flushed. “No…really, that’s not what I was thinking. I just…you were just…graceful and strong. I always thought gymnastics was too feminine and uninteresting, but I’ve been going to your events and tournaments and…you’re stunning. It’s like every move you make is planned, but it doesn’t look mechanical and it’s still filled with passion.”

  “So, you followed me here?” I accused, but I could feel myself warming up to him. He reminded me of a puppy, desperate for my affection and willing to perform any trick to get it. I almost wanted to test how far I could push him—how far would he go to get me to like him?

  �
��Kind of, yeah,” he said, and his cheeks looked a little pink. “I mean, I’m sure I could find something I like here. Do they sell comic books?”

  “You read comic books?”

  “Nah,” he said. “But I figure those are cheaper than books and it could make me look less like a stalker.”

  I held up In the Mind of an Addict. “How do you know about addiction literature?”

  “My older brother was a cokehead,” he said. “Or maybe he still is. I don’t know. My parents kicked him out when I was fourteen. I saw him a few times, but around the time I turned sixteen, he stopped showing up. I’m not sure what happened to him.”

  “You never wanted to figure out?”

  “He is his own man,” he said, shrugging. “He can do what he likes and suffer the consequences for his actions. That’s how life works. We don’t need to make it any easier for people because it will just make it harder for them later.”

  “It sounds like you’re reciting something from these books.”

  “That’s more along the lines of my parent’s speeches,” he says. “But…now that I’ve divulged part of my life, I’m wondering why you’re interested in these books.”

  “I’m writing a paper on drug addiction,” I said.

  “Bullshit,” he said.

  I raised an eyebrow. He had been trying to charm me before and this was in the complete opposite direction.

  He continued, “If you were writing a paper, you would be getting more legitimate sources than these self-help books. You’re either an addict or you’re close to someone who is.”

  “My father might have an issue with pain killers,” I said.

  “Ah. Parents. The bane of us all. Well, since you’re close to your father—or at least, you’ve known him for a long time—I would say that he absolutely has an issue if you’re noticing it. Usually, people close to an addict don’t realize there’s a problem until they’re too far down the rabbit hole.”

  He reached past me, his arm brushing against mine, and grabbed a big brown book. He put it on top of my pile. In big gold letters, it said The Neurology of Drug Abuse.

  “This is the one you want,” he said. “It shouldn’t even be in the self-help section, but they put it there because there’s a few chapters where the author gives advice.”

  “You’ve read it?” I asked.

  “My mother wrote it,” he said. “I’m from a family of chemists. I don’t think it should be that shocking my brother became an addict. He did have a knack for mixing chemicals early in life.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “Are you an addict?”

  He looked me up and down, a slow smile spreading on his face. “Not to drugs.”

  His name was Alex Shirokov, a name with so many sharp edges that when my tongue pronounced it, I could feel it get sliced. I liked the taste of the blood.

  Chapter Three

  Mira

  John left for another class an hour ago, but he said he’d return as soon as it was over.

  This wouldn’t make me so anxious if I hadn’t seen two police cars pass by his house. I pace in front of the wall with the sticky notes and index cards. One of the index cards says, kill your darlings. I wonder if the killer has been in this house and saw that index card or if John had said it once during a class.

  Of course, if the killer has been to this house, it means I’m not as safe as I had thought I was.

  I stare at his other notes. What if I could put my whole life story up like this? Just write every important event of my life onto an index card and put it in order? Would my life be boring? Would the only interesting parts be tragedies? Would my love life look like a roller coaster of swelling hope and discarded trust?

  I shouldn’t be dwelling on these kinds of things. I should be thinking about what I’m going to do to earn money if I don’t end up in prison. Earning a living writing isn’t likely, but I don’t have any other options right now except for working for my parents at their magic shop.

  Too bad it’s not as easy to disappear as magicians make it look.

  John’s front door opens. It slams shut and John rushes into the room, breathless.

  “The school is locking down,” John breathes. It looks like he ran the whole way home.

  “Locking down? What does that mean?”

  “I’m not supposed to go in to work, and the students have been told to stay in their dorms.”

  “Why? What else has happened?” Because the way things have been going, it’s obvious something else has happened.

  “Mira…it’s Kiona.”

  “Kiona?” I ask. “Victoria’s roommate?”

  “Yes,” he says. “She’s gone missing, and a threatening email from her was sent to the school yesterday. It’s just been reported that a gun she owned that was secured in her parent’s house is now missing. She must have gotten spooked by the police or us, and she’s on the run now.”

  “You think she’s the killer?”

  “Think about it,” he says. “She knew Victoria—they were roommates. Because she knew Victoria, she also could have known Alex through her. As for her motive…I don’t know. Maybe she was jealous of Victoria and decided to go after more people to throw us off. Maybe Alex brainwashed her into doing things. I really don’t know, but she’s run away with a weapon and she was angry at the school.”

  I tilt my head. It makes more sense than anything we’ve come up with.

  “Why was she angry at the school?”

  “She was going to flunk out,” he says. “She has a 1.3 GPA and she hadn’t even taken her finals yet. Maybe the stress got to her.”

  “These murders don’t seem stressed induced,” I say. “They seemed well-planned.”

  He sits down beside me. “Come on, Mira. Why else would she run?”

  “Did you know her at all?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “I’ve never had a class with her. I only vaguely knew about her from Victoria. Victoria always spoke so highly of her…but maybe Kiona was obsessed with her, and that obsession turned deadly.”

  “You sound like a movie preview now,” I say. “Well, should we go to the police with this information?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to catch Kiona before we act. I need to ensure that she’s guilty before I walk straight into a police station and, possibly, prison,” I say. “I have a feeling that the police are closing in, but I’m not going to seem like the crazy person who is trying to pin murders on someone without any real evidence. We should wait. She doesn’t just disappear with a gun without any intent to use it. If she’s the killer, she’ll try to reach out to you again.”

  “I…Mira, I don’t know if you have that long before the police figure out that you’re here,” he says.

  “It’s a risk,” I admit. “But it’s our only option.”

  R.A. Justin Brewer’s door is wide open as he vacuums his room. His hips swing as he listens to his MP3 player and the vacuum creates lines in the thick blue carpet in front of his bed.

  “I don’t know many undergraduates that enjoy vacuuming,” I call out to him.

  He jerks, dropping the handle of the vacuum. It falls to the floor with a loud bang. He fumbles to pick it back up again, pulling out his ear buds at the same time.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

  “It’s fine,” he says, smoothing his beard. He pulls his MP3 player out of his pocket and sets it on his bed. “I just…uh…well, I’m stuck here with the lockdown, and everyone else is studying or partying. Vacuuming relaxes me.”

  “You were a strange child, weren’t you?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Is it all right if I ask you some questions about Kiona?”

  He nods. “Of course. I guess I should have expected someone to come around at some point. Come, sit down.”

  He gestures to his computer chair. When I sit down in it, he drags a beanie bag chair in front of it and sits down. It forces him to l
ook up at me in order to make eye contact.

  “So…what do you think about the whole situation with her?” I ask.

  “It’s scary,” he says. “Pretty much anyone that lives within a couple hours of here has gone home. I live in Maine, so it’s not worth going up there if they could find her at any minute.”

  “You think they will?” I ask. “Find her?”

  He shrugs. “She doesn’t seem violent to me. I don’t know what she was thinking when she disappeared with her gun, but…I can’t see her ever committing a mass shooting or anything. She’s a good person. Maybe she’s just confused right now.”

  “Do you know anything about her relationship with Victoria?”

  His forehead scrunches up. “Like their roommate relationship?”

  “Sure,” I say. “Anything. When you saw them interact, what did you see?”

  “They were friends,” he says. “Good friends. I mean, as good as friends can be as roommates. I think they both hung out with their own circles, but they enjoyed each other’s company a lot.”

  “So…you never saw them fighting?”

  “It’s normal for roommates to fight,” he huffs. “It was nothing serious. Just the normal argument: Victoria was messy and Kiona wanted everything neat.”

  If Kiona were a neat freak, it would make her good at killing people without leaving a trace.

  I hear a loud rumble outside that's as familiar to me as the industrial soap in the lab's bathroom or the sound of my apartment neighbor's squeaking bed as he fucks his girlfriend.

  It's Detective Stolz's Ford Mustang.

  I move past Justin to look out his window. It's only her. That's a good sign. If there had been one or two more officers or even if she had been with Macmillan, it could mean she knows that I'm here.

  As if she can feel my gaze, she turns around and looks straight up at me.

  The muscles in my body tense, preparing to run, but Stolz doesn't move to pursue me. This could be my one chance to convince her that I'm innocent without her being close enough to arrest me. I can always run the moment she heads into the building. I yank open the window, the cold winter air bursting in.